


Collective Regrets

by yunmin



Category: Bones (TV), Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Gormogon Arc, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:38:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5745883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yunmin/pseuds/yunmin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Zack's confession, Cam hopes that they are done with this whole sorry affair. She's prepared to put the whole thing behind her. But then Spencer Reid turns up on her doorstep, and he clearly isn't ready to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collective Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably a logical conclusion to my feelings about Cam/Zack and the 'I knew he'd cause me pain' thing, and an exercise in trying to write something where Spencer knew Zack and yet the Gormogon incident still happened (which I have difficulties with because I tend to write these two being very intense with each other.) I like the results, but I'm not quite sure what everyone else will think - let me know if you liked it or you didn't!

Cam has herself settled on her couch, a bottle of wine open and a cheesy romance novel sat on the table, when there is a knock on the door. Quick, firm, repetitive. The sort of knock Seeley uses. Grumbling, she drags herself up, desperately hoping that there isn't a case.

She opens the door to find Dr Spencer Reid instead.

He looks exhausted. He often does ‒ it's his default state, Cam suspects. Messenger bag slung over a shoulder, purple scarf wound round his neck, hair in a state of disarray. In this moment he resembles an exhausted student more than a professional FBI agent. "I heard about Zack," he says in one single-toned breath, and Cam understands.

"Come in." Cam opens the door wide and he steps inside. He takes off his jacket, drops the messenger bag to the floor, and stands stock still at the front of her apartment. Cam has no idea what to say to him. He hadn't been in town when the business with Zack went down. She'd tried calling when Zack was injured and had only gotten his voicemail. She'd left one, she remembers, telling him to come back, and given him the hospital details.

She'd just forgotten to ever make the second call to tell Spencer that his friend had confessed to murder.

From the looks of him, he'd got off the BAU jet and headed straight to the Hospital. Where he'd been greeted with the worst shock of his life. And from there he'd come to Cam's door. She must be the only person he trusts to talk straight with him.

"Does Kate know?" Spencer asks.

Kate. Crap. Another person Cam has forgotten to call. Cam thinks that Kate is off in New York or Boston or Chicago with her touring show, trying to open up new audiences to her strange brand of theatre. She certainly hasn't been around DC much, but Cam knows that she and Zack kept contact. That was the thing. They'd all got caught up in this illusion of Zack being isolated, of being friendless. He wasn't. It was just unfortunate that his friends had jobs that took them far away when Zack needed them most.

Cam hopes that Zack's parents know. She thinks Brennan was supposed to call them, but that doesn't mean she did. They need to know. And hear it from someone who will express sympathy for their loss, who shares their grief, and can reassure them that everything that can be done will be done. Brennan may not be that person.

"No." Cam remembers she owes Spencer an answer. "I should call her at some point."

"I'll do it," Spencer says. The weight lifts off Cam's shoulders and settles straight on Spencer's frame. He's wringing his hands. "They won't let me see him."

That doesn't surprise Cam. Once Zack is settled in the institution, he may be granted visitation privileges. Until then, they are reliant on Sweets for news. "We can't see him either."

"But I'm FBI, BAU ‒ this is exactly our remit. A highly ritualised serial killer who is highly persuasive and manipulative, engaging in cult like behaviour—" Spencer starts stumbling. "It should have been a BAU case, and I should be allowed to see him."

He sinks down onto her couch, despondent.

"We were handling it." As soon as she's said it, Cam knows it's a lie. If they'd handled it, Zack wouldn't have blown himself up and started murdering someone. The case should have gone to someone outside the Jeffersonian, and the BAU were probably the ones to call.

Spencer doesn't call her on it. He just sinks his head into his hands. "How did we not notice?" he asks.

It's a question Cam's asked herself again and again and again over the last few days. "I don't know."

"I mean—" Spencer pauses, collecting his words. "I think I understand how he could have hidden it around me. I'm away a lot. An hour or two a week ‒ most people can fake being normal for that long. But for extended periods of time? You were with him in the lab, day after day after day. As was Jack, and Angela, and Brennan. One of you should have noticed."

Cam knows. She knows they should have. Even now she can't think of anything in Zack's behaviour that struck her as odd, but Spencer is right. There must have been evidence. She should have noticed. They all should have.

"We noticed eventually."

It's the wrong thing to say. "Too late. Too late to save him." Spencer shakes his head and Cam doesn't know whether to try to comfort him or not. "I read the case file on the way over. It shouldn't have taken you that long."

"We didn't want to believe it was him," Cam says.

"I still don't," Spencer admits.

He sounds shaken. Somehow he's curled his six foot frame in on itself so he looks all of ten years old on Cam's couch and she doesn't know what to do about him.

"We have the evidence."

There's a pause. Spencer is clearly mulling something over. "Technically, you have evidence that Zack aided Gormogon; that he prepared the flesh, hid body parts in Limbo, took the teeth to make Gormogon a new set. But most of that is circumstantial. And then you have a confession to murder by a seriously injured man, made while he still had a significant amount of morphine running through his system, which is on highly dubious grounds. A good lawyer could get him off that charge."

"He was cognisant. His confession was made legally and not under duress. Caroline was sure of it." Cam sighs. "She didn't want this to turn into an even bigger mess."

"He had narcotics in his system. That alone means that his confession can't be taken on face value." Spencer asks.

"I'm a Doctor. I know what morphine does. If his doctor and Caroline were happy with the dosage, I'm not going to argue with them," Cam replies.

"I wouldn't be happy with any confession given under a drug-induced state. Morphine is especially bad. Opiates can induce psychotic breaks under the right circumstances. What Zack said isn't worth anything."

"I have been on morphine, Spencer." Cam watches Spencer stare at her. "Methyl Bromide poisoning is nasty. They gave me the good stuff."

"Then you know what it's like. Zack wasn't thinking straight." Spencer is going after this issue with such tenacity that Cam is sure there's something under there. "Besides, Zack is clearly a better liar than we ever thought he was, if he's hidden all this for months. We shouldn't assume his confession is the whole truth."

Cam looks concerned. "You don't think he did it?"

"I think that I don't have enough of the facts to draw an adequate conclusion," Spencer replies. "I don't think Zack would have done any of this, but there's enough evidence that indicates he was somehow involved, and that terrifies me, and I know that I can't be impartial when it comes to Zack."

"I don't think any of us can," Cam replies.

She reaches over for the wine and pours herself a glass. It's well deserved. Then she looks at Spencer and decides that he needs a drink too, so she fetches him a glass and starts pouring.

"Oh no, I don't—" Spencer protests.

"Drink it," Cam says. "Or not, I suppose. But you probably deserve it."

Spencer nods, takes the offered glass, and has a small sip. He shudders a little and puts it down on the table in front of them. Cam takes a long swig of hers. A little bit of the tension inside of her washes away.

There's silence. Spencer lifts his glass up again and takes another sip. "What will you do now?" Spencer asks.

"About what?"

"The Jeffersonian. Zack's position. What's going to happen?"

"We need a full security review and half our protocols need revising. If we have a situation like this again it needs to raise red flags," Cam says. "After that... I don't know. The Jeffersonian doesn't need a second full-time fully qualified forensic anthropologist. But Brennan needs an assistant. There are a lot of people wanting to study under her. She'll end up taking one of them on. Though she never did find a full-time replacement when Zack went to Iraq."

"He was always going to come back then," Spencer says.

"We didn't know that. And Brennan shouldn't have kept on like she did, rejecting people just because she wanted Zack back. No matter that everyone there is close, it's a working forensic lab before everything else. We can't let our personal feelings affect that."

"You're not doing a very good job of that," Spencer comments. Cam looks at him. His glass of wine is slowly diminishing. "Brennan and Booth, Angela and Jack, Zack. It's been personal for a long time." Spencer considers a moment, and Cam just lets him think. "It's like that with the BAU too. We've had a lot of close calls this year. Things get personal. It happens."

"Yeah, well, it hasn't backfired on you guys yet." Cam drains her glass, puts it back down on the table. She'll refill it in a moment.

Spencer takes another sip of wine. "It will do one day."

He seems so certain. Which is interesting, because as far as Cam knows no one at the BAU is romantically involved. That's the obvious way for things to go wrong.

"We've got someone. He was on trial as Brennan's assistant before Zack came back from Iraq. And he helped on her father's case. Clark Edison. I was going to give him a call and see if he'd come back," Cam says.

"That's a good shout," Spencer agrees. "Get someone in who's familiar with your working patterns but not involved with the emotion of it. It'll help."

That's always been the problem. People being too involved. Cam was brought into the Jeffersonian to get them working better together, and she'd done her job. But had ended up too involved in the process.

"We should have done that. You're right; the case should have gone to someone unfamiliar with it and us," Cam starts.

"You tried," Spencer says. "With Dr Sweets. Only he's inexperienced. Profiling isn't an exact science ‒ it's why we do it as a team, to bring different perspectives, to catch things others might miss. He was your pair of fresh eyes."

"He was the first person we suspected," Cam laments, reaching over to pour herself that second glass. She notices that Spencer's glass is running low, and tops his glass up to. He doesn't stop her. "Is it bad that I wanted it to be him, if it meant that it wasn't Zack?"

"It's a typical response. Searching for another suspect to absolve the person you can't believe is guilty," Spencer responds. "The mind is astonishingly good at deceiving us about the ones we love."

That's... an interesting way to put it.

"Did you love him?" Cam asks.

Spencer shakes his head. "No," he says. It's so certain that he sounds like he's convincing himself he wasn't. "I think—" He's hesitant. "I think I could have. If things had gone that way. I think I could have loved him above everything."

It's a vulnerable confession. Cam thinks for a moment, about all the times she's seen them together. They've always had an intimacy, a bond forged by their intelligence and similarities in a world where they are so different to everyone else. Spencer has always looked at Zack like he's a revelation. She can see it turning to love very easily.

"What about you?" Spencer asks.

"No," Cam replies, failing to duck Spencer's blow.

"You were sleeping with him," Spencer continues.

Cam sighs. Puts her glass of wine back on the table. "I slept with him. Once. That does not make a relationship. It wasn't like that."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself," Spencer observes, with a raised eyebrow, as if he hadn't been doing the same thing. He's still drinking. It's loosened him up, his body no longer bound by tight strings, limbs falling across the couch.

"Maybe I am." Cam shrugs her shoulders. "It makes no difference. Whether I could have loved him, or not ‒ I can't now. And I don't think he would ever love me back."

"I think he would have," says Spencer, in a way that sounds bitter and congratulatory and honest, all at once.

"Let's not delude ourselves, Spencer. I think Zack's only ever had eyes and ears for one person, and we both know who that is."

"Dr Brennan?" Cam nods, once. Spencer takes a long drink, then shakes his head. "I'm not going to deny that he loves her. She's his mentor ‒ she's everything to him. But he admires you. You're one of the few people who's ever made him feel comfortable. And he adores Angela ‒ you know, sometimes he looks at her like she hung the moon and stars and every piece of his fevered adolescent dream."

Spencer is most definitely on his way to tipsy. His eyes are shut, long lashes made darker by the low light, and he looks pensive, dreamlike.

"I don't know."

"He could have loved you," Spencer insists.

There has been nothing said about whether Zack could have loved Spencer. Cam has no interest in bringing it up. Down that road lies the potential for yet more heartbreak, as Cam has no idea if Zack has any romantic interest in men. There's never been any sign. But Zack always did keep his secrets close.

"He never seemed to have much luck with romance," Cam comments.

"I never understood that," Spencer says. "I always thought he'd be so easy to love."

"I knew," Cam says. "I knew from the moment I met him. I knew he'd cause me pain. I could see that it would be so easy to let myself love him and I knew he'd break my heart."

Spencer doesn't have anything to say to that. He can't deny it. His heart has been shattered by Zack's betrayal as surely as Zack shattered Cam's.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Cam's confused. "Nothing about this is your fault. And I don't need apologies. I don't think an apology from Zack would make my pain go away."

Spencer hums in agreement. His glass of wine is almost empty again; Cam's finished most of hers. There's probably half a glass each left in the bottle. They'll finish it.

"I want one," Spencer says. "I don't even know why. It wouldn't change things. If he did do it, he's guilty and I missed something. If he didn't, he lied to us and caused us all this pain." He puts his head in his hands. "I just want to talk to him. I need to understand why he did it."

"You'll be there a long time," Cam says.

"I know," Spencer drains his glass.

"Shall we finish the bottle?" Cam asks, reaching for it.

Spencer looks unsure. "I shouldn't." Cam's not sure what he's uncertain about ‒ whether it's having to be in work tomorrow, getting home alright, or simply the concern that he'll divulge yet more emotional truths if he stays.

"I've got a spare room," Cam says. "And you must have just come back from a case, I know Hotch isn't that much of a task master to want you in the office early."

If the reason he's uncertain is the third, there isn't anything Cam can do to assuage him of it. But she can reassure him about the others. And it seems to tip Spencer over, and he nods. "Okay then."

Cam distributes the wine evenly between the two glasses. She holds the bottle steadily over her glass, watching the last drops fall. It's steady. Rhythmical. A calming thing to watch, unlike the mess of her life. Spencer has taken the other glass and is sipping quietly.

Cam holds her glass out. "I hope you find what you're looking for," she says. Any form of toast feels inappropriate, but she has to say something.

"I hope you find your peace in what happened," Spencer replies, and taps his glass against hers.

They drink in silence. Spencer, somehow, finishes first. He notices the romance novel that Cam had out and picks it up, scanning through the blurb and then beginning to read.

He's half way through it by the time Cam has finished.

"Why do you read these?" Spencer asks, clearly confused about the content.

"Because in it life is simple," Cam replies, hoisting herself up off the couch. "Girl meets boy, boy is hot, they have sex, followed by internal crisis by girl about boy being too hot and can't possibly be into her then it turns out he is and they live happily ever after."

Spencer contemplates the book again. "I'm not sure that's how I'd have described it, but I suppose it's a fair summation." He puts it back down on her table, half read. "Does it help?"

"Sometimes," Cam replies. She picks up the glasses. She won't wash them, but she could at least return them to the kitchen. "Most of the time, they just take the edge off."

She takes the glasses away. When she comes back Spencer is still sitting on her couch. "So, do you want that spare room?"

Spencer hesitates again, probably thinking about how possible it would be to get home. Given the lateness of the hour, Cam suspects he'd have trouble. "Yeah."

Cam shows him the way. She's not even sure why she has it, but there's a bed made up. Mostly she uses it for storage, and she's let her wardrobe overflow into the spare closet. "Do you need anything?"

"I'll be fine," he says.

Cam leaves him be. He came straight from work – he probably has overnight things, seeing as how the BAU are rarely without them. He'll be fine. What he needs is time to process everything that's happened, and he won't get that if Cam is hovering over his shoulder.

She's prepared to lie awake for a long time, but falls asleep surprisingly quickly, and honestly? She's glad.

.

She wakes up that morning with her alarm, and is half-way through her morning routine before she remembers that Spencer Reid is in her apartment.

She's dressed, so she goes in search of him. Popping her head into the guest room reveals that he's up. Cam can smell coffee, which would indicate he's found the kitchen.

She walks through and finds him at the kitchen table, scanning through files and papers that are laid out in front of him. He doesn't look like he slept. While the coffee pot has been put on, he's not got as far as pouring himself one. Though there is a mug on the side earmarked for such a process.

Cam locates another mug for herself and asks "Milk or sugar?" as she pours the coffee out.

Spencer startles, but recovers to say, "Sugar, please."

"How many?"

Cam turns to him, sugar pot in hand. Spencer squints back at her. There's a pair of glasses on the table ‒ he must usually wear contacts. "You know what, I'll do it myself, where's the sugar pot?" He stands up and puts the glasses on. They're thickly rimmed, almost clunky, but they suit him. Cam takes an admiring glance as Spencer stumbles over and puts at least five spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee cop.

"You'll rot your teeth," Cam jokes.

"And I've got hollow legs. I know. I've heard it all. And besides, I think the amount of caffeine I consume is more damaging to my health than the sugar," he replies. The coffee is hot but he takes a good swig. "Do you have anything to make breakfast with?"

Cam thinks through the contents of her cupboards. She doesn't usually bother with breakfast ‒ she'll grab something on the way in if she's particularly hungry. "There's some eggs? Oh, and there's bread in the freezer."

Spencer doesn't say anything about the meagre contents of her cupboards. She suspects his are worse. He takes a couple of eggs from the fridge, some milk, some butter, and finds a skillet. "Scrambled eggs and toast then."

Cam is quite happy to just leave him to it. He seems comfortable, in her kitchen, and while Cam will admit it's a little domestic for her liking, she's not going to complain at the handsome young man making her breakfast. As Spencer starts cracking eggs into the pan, she takes a look at what Spencer was working on.

She finds the Gormogon files spread out over her kitchen table.

Once she realises, she quickly averts her gaze. She has no desire to spend any more time on that case. There is nothing new she can bring to it. She'll let Spencer have it, for a little while longer, but then she'll pry him away from it. They can't live with it hanging over their heads forever.

She wanders into her living room, leaving Spencer to cook. He seems quite happy finding everything, and if he needs anything, he'll yell. She'll still hear him.

A phone rings. It isn't hers ‒ it's not a ringtone she recognises. It must be Spencer's. The sound is coming from the pockets of his jacket, which is thrown over the table by Cam's front door. He doesn't seem to be reacting, so Cam thinks she should probably check who's calling, just in case it's important.

The caller-ID says it's Hotch. Cam picks it up. "Hey Hotch, it's Cam," she says, before Hotch divulges information about a case she's not supposed to know.

"Hello," Hotch replies, covering his surprise well. "Is Reid with you?"

"Yeah," Cam says. She thinks she hears a sigh of relief. "He's in my kitchen making breakfast, he's been here since last night."

"Good." Hotch sounds incredibly thankful, which is a bit odd, but Cam doesn't comment on it. After what she just said, which makes it sound like she slept with Spencer last night, she doesn't really have a right too. "I heard about what happened with Dr Addy."

"He's not taking it well," Cam says. "I mean, he's not taking it as badly as he could be, but he's not very happy about it."

"I suspected that," Hotch says.

"Just—" Cam struggles to know what to say, because what Spencer needs is time to work through his feelings on this and there isn't much either of them can do to help him on that. "Keep an eye on him. He's liable to obsess over this if we let him."

"I will," Hotch promises, with a weight to his words that speaks to the amount he cares. "Look, tell him to take his time this morning. I don't need reports until this evening, and barring a calamity of the highest order we won't be on another case for a few days."

"I'll let him know," Cam says. Hotch hangs up after that.

"Breakfast's ready." Spencer leans against her kitchen door to say it, all lean limbs, and he looks nothing like the dishevelled wreck he did last night.

"Hotch called," Cam says, holding out the phone. "He said take your time."

Spencer nods. Every other part of the discussion passes unsaid.

Cam puts Spencer's cell phone back on the table, and moves towards the kitchen. There are plates set out, heat rising off neat piles of eggs. Glasses of juice neatly placed out on mats. The case file has been cleared away as if it was never there.

The food is surprisingly well made, considering that before Spencer took over her kitchen Cam hadn't even known that he could cook. "What are you going to do?" she asks, having finished. She should probably clear everything up, as an exchange of labour, but she doesn't want to move just yet. Even though by now she's almost certainly running late for work.

Spencer has already started gathering plates off the table. "Go to work," he says, surprised at the question.

"No, I mean, about Zack."

He stops, plate held in mid-air. Cam doesn't think he breathes for that moment. Then he continues like nothing ever happened. "I'm going to look at all the evidence. Make my own mind up about what happened. I need to know what Zack was thinking when he did what he did."

"You know you might not like what you find," Cam says.

"I know. But I've got to know the truth. What I've heard doesn't sit comfortably with me. I need to draw my own conclusions."

Cam nods. She takes the plates from him. "Look, go, I've got this." He leaves, chastised by Cam. She can stack her own dishwasher.

"Thanks Cam," he says, as he leaves. Cam doesn't know whether she's being thanked for doing the dishes, or whether she's being thanked for opening up her home and giving him a place to vent last night. It doesn't really matter. Neither of them were chores.

"It's no problem."

.

"He won't see me."

It's been a month and a half since Cam last had Spencer Reid on her doorstep, looking bedraggled and betrayed over the news that his friend had murdered someone. Now, he somehow manages to look worse. The BAU have had a heavy case load recently. They were in New York tackling a terrorist threat just over a week ago. But it seems that Zack's case still haunts him.

"Zack?"

Cam has to ask, just in case it's something else.

"He won't see me."

"He's allowed visitors, now." Cam knows Hodgins and Angela have been to see him. She thinks that Temperance has too. So it isn't a matter that Zack isn't allowed visitors. Zack is specifically denying Spencer.

"I know. Kate saw him last week. But he won't see me. Refuses to, actually. And apparently my status as an FBI agent doesn't override his wishes." Spencer sighs. "Not that I'd do it, but it'd be nice if it could."

He's fed up and frustrated, and Cam gets it. She hasn't been to seen Zack yet because she doesn't know what she'd say to him. Doesn't know how to face him, knowing what she knows, that he killed someone and none of them noticed or knew. But Zack must have similar misapprehensions about seeing Spencer.

And Spencer seems fairly certain that there is more to this case than what Zack is saying. If Zack is hiding behind a façade, then Spencer Reid will be the one to break it.

"Give it some time," Cam says. "It's a lot to get used to. He'll come round eventually."

"I know." Spencer steps in her door, and drops his bag to the ground with a thud. "I'm just not sure how much time we have before it comes to late to do anything about this whole mess."

"You know there might not be anything to be done," Cam says.

"Do you ever have that feeling, settled right inside, that something's wrong?" Cam nods.

"A gut feeling. Zack hated them."

"So do I. But my gut ‒ instinct ‒ is telling me that he didn't murder anyone. All the evidence I've found agrees with me. There's nothing but Zack's confession that indicates he killed that lobbyist, and the confession is on shaky ground. You couldn't convict him of murder based on what you've got, and you shouldn't be able to lock him away for the rest of his life based on that either."

Spencer looks completely shaken. It's disconcerting to watch.

"Look, come in. Freshen up. I'll crack open a bottle of wine. Then we can talk about it."

He nods. "That would be good."

"Okay. You know where everything is, I'll leave you to it. There are fresh towels in the cupboard outside the bathroom if you want them."

Spencer quickly disappears off, taking his bag with him. Cam liberates a bottle of wine from her cupboard, finds a corkscrew from the kitchen to open it, and then some glasses to pour it into. She leaves Spencer's glass and the bottle on the living room table.

She doesn't want to just sit waiting for him. She can hear the sound of the shower going, so it'll be a while before Spencer comes back out. So she finds a book ‒ another trashy romance novel ‒ and curls up on the couch to read it. That was how her evening was going anyway, before Spencer knocked on her door and needed her help.

A couple of chapters in and there's a knock against the wall and Spencer Reid is once again in her living room.

He looks better for the shower. Less haunted. He's taken his contacts out and replaced them with glasses. His hair is damp and pushed back from his face; Cam can see now that he's recently had it cut. His clothes are a shirt and slacks, and on his feet are odd socks. Cam's never seen him wear anything else.

She gestures to the glass of wine sitting on the table, and invites him to sit down beside her. He takes a generous gulp of the wine.

"You feeling better now?" she asks.

"I don't know if I'm ever going to feel better about this mess, but I feel less awful that I did?" Spencer replies, and Cam'll take that. "Is that another romance novel?"

Cam closes the book and puts it back on the table. "Yes. It's a bit rubbish so far, but it does the job."

"I should probably read something apart from Zack's case file over and over again," Spencer says.

"Please tell me that isn't all you've been doing since I saw you last," Cam says.

Spencer looks abashed.

"It doesn't make sense, okay," he says, as if it's an adequate defence.

"Tell me," Cam says, with a sip of her glass of wine.

"Okay. So you have evidence of Zack's involvement with Gormogon. The bodies he hid in limbo. The teeth he took. The fact that he lied about some of the evidence. And knowing the location of Gormogon's house. He aided and abetted a murderer. You can prove that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But the idea that he murdered someone ‒ that came from nowhere. There's no evidence whatsoever."

"Apart from the confession."

"I've discounted the confession. It was made under duress, when he wasn't in a fit state of mind. It wouldn't stand up in court for a moment. I think he's lying."

Spencer keeps saying that. Cam had dismissed it, previously. She doesn't think Zack's that good a liar. But then, she never suspected his involvement before the evidence piled up. If Spencer is still fixed on it, there might be a point to it. "Why would he lie about it, though?"

"I can't say." Spencer takes a long drink of wine. "Maybe he wanted to ensure a clean split, and becoming a murderer was a way to ensure that. Maybe he thought he could strike a better deal. Maybe he genuinely does think he killed the lobbyist. He might have done. Gormogon is certainly delusional, but without seeing Zack I can't tell how far he bought into it. I doubt he had a psychological break, but I can't rule it out. But I have no idea what was going on his head. I never have."

"I think you're the only one who ever got close," Cam says.

Spencer sighs. "That's what worries me. But I can't prove any of this without talking to him. All I can do is cite past precedent, and there isn't much on this sort of thing, and I'm not sure any of it is applicable to Zack. So I'm pretty much fresh out of options unless someone unearths something else. And the case is closed, so that's not going to happen any time soon."

There's tension written all over his face over this insurmountable task. Cam wants to wipe it straight off. That's what she's trying to do with the wine, but Spencer's still making stead headway through his glass.

"You'll work it out," Cam says. If anyone can it will be Spencer. "Now, when's the last time you did something that wasn't work?"

He looks abashed, which is answer enough.

Cam stands up. Her glass of wine is almost empty, so she leaves it on the table and heads over to her hi-fi system, picking a CD from the shelves and sliding it in. Soft, smooth jazz fills the room. Spencer nods appreciatively.

"You know that Zack will never forgive himself if you ruin your life trying to fix his mistakes," Cam says, sidling back over to the couch and leaning on one of the arms.

"And I won't forgive myself if he spends the rest of his life rotting in that place for a crime he didn't commit."

Spencer looks so serious. Usually, he looks like a grad student, but with the stern expression on his face he finally looks like an FBI agent. Apart from the glass of wine in his hand.

"For one night, you can stop working. No one would begrudge you that." Cam smiles. "Another glass of wine, some music, a dance...?"

"I don't dance," Spencer replies, but then he looks at her. Considers her, and for a moment, Cam is sure that he is onto her game. "Though I'll take more wine."

Cam tops up his glass, and pours herself another as well. She stands in the centre of her apartment, swaying to the music with the glass in her hand. She tries to stop thinking about Zack. He will do her no good. Instead, she immerses herself in the music, in the taste of good wine, and what she hopes might be the company of a good man.

Spencer is remarkably quiet; he just sits there on the couch, sipping his wine, taking in the soft strings of the music. But he looks calmer than he did, and Cam will take that.

"Is this Nina Simone?" Spencer asks, eventually, after half the disk has played through. Cam nods. "I like it."

"Then come dance," Cam replies, holding out a hand. She's almost certainly had a little too much to drink.

Surprisingly, Spencer stands up. Places his glass down on the table, and walks over to her. "I'm warning you that I'm awful," he says, as he stands in front of her.

"It's not difficult." Cam is hardly an expert dancer herself, so Spencer has nothing to be ashamed of. "Put your hand on my waist," she says, before shaking her head, realising that she can't do this with a glass of wine in hand. "Sorry." He smiles at her. She steps back up to him, and takes his hand, slotting herself into him. "Okay, now put your hand on my waist."

Spencer is awkward. His hand ends up mostly on her hip. Cam dips her hand to raise it, placing his fingers so they curl round her waist to the small of her back. Spencer has nice hands. "That's better," she says, softly. "Now, relax, and just sway." She places his hand on his shoulder, steps a little closer to him, ducks her head.

It's nice. Spencer's right that he won't exactly be on _So You Think You Can Dance?_ anytime soon, but the music is slow and he's keeping up with the small steps Cam's taking as she moves them around her living room. She can feel him breathing, exhaling and inhaling almost in time with the music. It's slow and calm, which is a relief.

They've ended up tight, bodies close together, Cam fitting right into Spencer's slender hold. Her head is nestled against the crook of his neck. With her hand she can feel not only the bony ridge of his scapula, but also lean muscle she never suspected. He's like Zack; deceptively strong.

That's not where the similarities end. Spencer's hair is only a couple of shades lighter than Zack's golden brown. Both of them have IQs that are nearly off the charts. Both of them are just as awkward holding her.

As if he can read her mind, he asks; "What was Zack like? With you, I mean," he clarifies quickly. Cam can hear the question he's actually asking underneath it all.

"He was..." Cam struggles to find the words to describe Zack to a man who was almost in love with him. "Sweet. Cautious. Eager," she continues, remembering the look on his face. "Desperate to please without really knowing how."

She thinks Spencer nods, merely by the way that his chin jostles the short strands of hair on top of her head. By the bravery brought on by wine, she continues. "I kissed him, here, on that sofa. He was talking about work and I wanted not to, so I kissed him." She slides her hand over Spencer's jaw, tilting his head gently towards her, just the way she'd positioned Zack. "He didn't respond at first. But then he kissed me back."

She moves her head, so she is inches away from Spencer's mouth. "Then what did he do?" Spencer asks, breath tight and hot and desperate.

Cam doesn't say anything in response. Actions speak louder than words, after all. She wraps her fingers around Spencer's hand, inching it slowly up her body.

Spencer takes over. He's less awkward than Zack, more confident. His hand skims her side, over her shoulder, then up to rest against her neck. He's moving closer. Noses bump. Spencer pauses, tentatively, centimetres away from her lips. "Camille, are you trying to seduce me?"

"If I say yes, does that change things?"

"No," he replies, and he kisses her. Soft lips cover hers, hands raise to cover her back and pull her tight. Now he's completely different from Zack; forceful and determined in a way far beyond Zack's reach. She had to tug Zack back to her bedroom. Spencer is driving her there, forcing her back against the wall. His hands go under her and Cam feels herself being lifted off the floor.

Cam gasps. Spencer smiles, taking his mouth from hers and continuing, kissing his way down her jawline and to the juncture where her neck and shoulder meet, finding Cam's most sensitive spot.

"Bedroom," Cam says. He's busy unpicking her shirt from the back of her skirt. "Now."

Spencer obeys surprisingly quickly. He's quick to respond to her demands, just like Zack was, but Spencer is inventive and competent and confident in ways that Zack never was. He makes a good lover; if Cam had known it would be like this she'd have taken him to bed months ago. Despite the fact that he's clearly looking for something different from her in this encounter, and seems distracted at times, he never forgets her pleasure. That, in itself, ranks him above any number of men Cam has taken to her bed over the years.

She looks up at him at one point, his hair falling all over his face and into hers. She sweeps it back with a touch of her hand, letting her fingers tangle in it as he continues to drive deep into her. He reminds her so much of Zack in that moment that she swears she can see him in Spencer's features.

The innocence she always saw in Zack is mirrored, when Spencer falls asleep shortly after it all. Cam extracts herself. She could do with a shower, something to refresh and cleanse and revitalise.

The hot water running down her back soothes the tension in her bones. She knows that something must be done with Spencer. He was chasing a desperate memory of Zack tonight, attempting a closeness to him by assuming a place he'd once taken. Cam knows enough to know that it wasn't about her.

She'll call Hotch tomorrow, she decides as she washes the last remnants of shampoo lather from her hair. He's much better equipped to deal with these sorts of things than she is.

.

She and Spencer both wake up to the sound of her alarm. Cam smashes it off, with a vengeance.

"You aren't a morning person, are you?" Spencer wryly observes. He clearly is, given that he has shaken off his sleepy wakefulness in a matter of seconds.

"Shut up," Cam replies. She's still wrestling with the covers, trying to shake them off so she can get out of the bed and go to work.

"I'll go and put the coffee on," Spencer says. He's still naked, so Cam gets a nice look of his butt before he locates his boxers from the floor and slips them on.

Cam goes through her morning routine, same as she does every morning. But this time she's dodging Spencer at her every move – him slipping behind her in the bathroom to retrieve his contacts, etc. If the last time he spent the night reeked of charming domesticity, this is worse; comfortable in a way that is utterly uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

He's dressed and standing in her living room, drinking the last dregs of a cup of coffee before she knows it. "I have to go," he says. Cam just nods. He has a longer commute than her, all the way out of the city and down to Quantico.

"That's fine," Cam replies. "Feel free to come back at any time." It's hopefully enough to make it clear that Spencer is welcome back, that last night didn't change things between them, but not enough to be an overt invitation for a repeat of last night. Not that Cam would mind that, she just feels that Spencer needs his head screwed back on properly before he can really start making decisions about what he wants.

He leaves, with a little wave. Cam gathers everything she needs for work and leaves too. She means to call Hotch as soon as she gets to the Jeffersonian, but Booth is there waiting, with a new case, and Cam's morning soon disappears to blood and guts and dead bodies. It's past two when she finally grabs some lunch and retreats to the mezzanine to make the call.

"Camille." Hotch picks up on the third ring. "What can I do for you today?"

"It's about Spencer," Cam starts. She hears Hotch's immediate sigh.

"I guess you might be the reason I caught him fishing a spare change of clothes out of his go-bag this morning, despite the fact that I know he carries a spare shirt in his messenger bag?"

"I think that one ended up in a heap on my floor," Cam replies, and she'll let Hotch fill in any of the rest of pieces as he likes.

"Relax, I don't think anyone else noticed," Hotch says, with what sounds like a smile. "It's not like it's a problem."

"Yeah, but we've probably got one," Cam sighs. "It's the Gormogon case. He's still obsessing over it. Hasn't let him go. But Zack is currently refusing to see him, and he can't get any further on the case without re-opening it."

"Do you want me to come in and make it a BAU case?" Hotch asks. Cam thinks he would if she asked it of him; for her and for Spencer, and for the truth.

But she shakes her head. "No. Let it lie. Spencer might be right, and there are certainly oddities, but I don't think anyone could face having to go over it again. I wouldn't reopen it without Zack's consent, and I doubt he's going to give us it."

"So what would you like me to do?"

This is the thing that Cam likes about Hotch; he's simple, straight forward, willing to go to bat for his team even if it'll cause him hassle. And he doesn't jump to assumptions the same way others do.

"Just... Keep him busy. I think that if he doesn't think about this case for a bit he'll move on. He just needs some time to process everything, and get to a place where he can think about the case and Zack rationally." If Spencer comes back, months from now, and still is of the same opinion, then Cam will fight with him. But now; even is he is right, he doesn't have the objectivity to pursue this case in any meaningful manner.

"I can do that," Hotch says, and Cam can rest easy in the knowledge that he will do it. "Let me know if you get worried about him again."

"Will do."

And with that the conversation is over. Cam goes back to work. Hotch'll go to distracting Spencer. And hopefully she won't end up picking up the pieces of another broken friend any time soon.

.

Spencer Reid doesn't turn up on her doorstep for another year and a half.

In that time, lots changes. The Jeffersonian gets used to life without Zack. The interns take his place, each of them working to win Brennan's heart as he did. Cam has gained a daughter in Michelle. Things have changed at the BAU too, but Cam's busy enough at the Jeffersonian that she doesn't keep abreast of all those changes.

Which is why Spencer is such a surprise when he does show up.

Cam's in the kitchen; Michelle gets the door. Cam hears the knock but doesn't think much of it, not until Michelle yells "Cam, it's for you," in a peculiar tone of voice. Then Cam moves, faintly thinking in the back of her head about who it could be.

She never expected it to be Spencer. He looks different; his hair is much longer, and he looks older, bearing more weight on his shoulders. In his hand is a cane, and he's holding his weight oddly. Cam ignores all of that to go and hug him like the old friend he is. "Hey you," she says, holding him tight for a moment.

"Hello Cam," he replies, tone just as full of warmth.

"Cam?" comes Michelle's questioning tone.

"Oh." Cam springs apart from Spencer. "Michelle, this is Dr. Spencer Reid, he's from the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit, down at Quantico. Spencer, this is my daughter, Michelle."

Spencer gives a wave; Michelle looks glad that he doesn't want to shake hands. "Behavioural Analysis?" Michelle's tone is skeptical.

"We profile criminal behaviour and use it to understand and catch serial criminals," Spencer replies.

Cam notes that he has a bunch of files under his free arm. He's clearly here for a reason, and wasn't expecting the presence of an additional teenager to compound his problems.

"Here, come through to the kitchen," Cam says. "I'm cooking dinner, so it's a bit hectic."

"No worries," Spencer replies, following her. Michelle knows when she's being left, and heads back to her room without a word. As soon as they're in the kitchen, door closed, and hopefully out of Michelle's earshot, Spencer goes, "Daughter?"

His eyebrows are raised high. Cam waves them down. 'It's a very long story. One we probably haven't got time for unless you're planning on staying."

"I could, but I don't want to intrude," Spencer says.

"You wouldn't be." Cam says it with a smile. "But it's up to you. Michelle's probably worse than the Spanish Inquisition." She can tell that Spencer bites back a fact about the Spanish Inquisition. "Anyway, what did you come for?"

Spencer lays the folders he has down on the Kitchen table. As he opens them out, Cam remembers that morning when she came in to see the Gormogon evidence spread across it. And so it is now. But these files have been painstakingly annotated.

"He didn't do it," Spencer says.

He sounds so certain. Cam lets her eyes glance over the files, flicking through the pages. Everything has been looked at.

"If you know, then why are you here?" Cam asks.

"Because I know you and Hotch stopped me last time. Which was probably for the best; I couldn't see the wood from the trees back then. But he didn't kill anyone, and I know I can prove it." Spencer takes a deep breath. "But I can't do it on my own. I need your help, to go back through the physical evidence. I need you to get Lance Sweets on board ‒ he's lying on Zack's psychiatric reports, by the way, he definitely knows more than he's saying. And I need someone who Zack's actually speaking too."

"Have you still not seen him?" Cam asks. Even she has done that; it's an awkward experience, but she keeps at it, because as awful as it is for her things must be worse for Zack. She makes sure to bring books, newspapers, good socks ‒ the practicalities that no one else bothers with.

Spencer shakes his head and looks regretful. "I went back a couple of times, but he still wouldn't see me, and then I got caught up in other things, and now..." He trails off. "That's not important. What's between him and me doesn't matter. I don't care if he never speaks to me again, but life is too short for him to spend the rest of it imprisoned for something he didn't do."

There's a passion there. Cam belatedly remembers the fate of Hotch's ex-wife, recently murdered by a criminal the BAU was pursuing, and wonders if that has anything to do with it.

"And you're certain?" Cam asks. She won't sign anyone up for the pain that this will cause them unless he is.

"I'm certain," he says.

Cam believes him.

"Okay," she says. "I'm in. But I want to see your plan, first, before we do anything." She stirs the sauce she's making. Miraculously, it hasn't stuck to the bottom yet. "Are you staying for dinner or not?"

"I'll stay," he says, and he leaves the file. It'll wait another couple of hours; then they can finally unravel the mystery of the Gormogon conspiracy, and get Zack the justice he deserves.

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of notes:  
> \- Kate is the Performance Artist friend who Zack mentions back in S2, I think? I've used her before - I'm attracted to the idea of her, this friend of Zack's who we never meet, so wanted to drop her in.  
> \- Interestingly, this is one of the few relationships where I could conceivably ship all three sides of the triangle but don't really ot3 it? I can't make it work in my head. [if I come back in like a month with ot3 fic, ignore this.]  
> \- And to heed off the inevitable: no, I probably won't be doing a sequel, because there are only so many ways to write around the Gormogon arc. [this was an attempt to find a new perspective.] Any sequel would probably be very similar to a lot of the stuff I have already done, though if I do find a new take on it it might work [no one hold their breath.]


End file.
